


He Got Low.

by lackluster_lexicon



Series: AvenMsn Drabbles [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_lexicon/pseuds/lackluster_lexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't see an end, so he put a bullet in his mouth and The Other Guy spit it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Got Low.

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble written for a writing challenge in my RP group. The prompt was to write self-paras inspired by songs. This one is (loosely) inspired by "Breathe Me" by Sia; someday, I want to write a follow-up with Clint, but we'll see how that goes. I've been making a lot of promises about writing that I can't seem to keep, haha.

He awoke screaming. Legs tangled - drenched, drowning in sweat - falling...

**_whump_ **

With a strangled gasp for air, he scrambled to his feet - _where the fuck am I why is it so dark_ \- and crashed into something wooden behind him.

" _Fuck_!"

He turned. It was a dresser. Turned again - a bed, the mattress bare and a flannel blanket pooled around his feet. Turned again, stared into the dark - _don't move, heart pounding, breathe, breathe, breathe_ \- until his surroundings brightened into focus.

A shack. The abandoned shack he'd found after he'd awoken in the Canadian wilderness four days ago. He was in British Columbia. He was alone.

Wait. Who was he?

"Bruce Banner." His throat burned, his voice barely escaping into the cool air. "Your name is Bruce Banner, and you're human, and you're alone."

He'd found the shack purely by accident, and a bittersweet accident it was. He had been half-naked, of course, as well as physically sore and mentally vacant. He couldn't (or, perhaps, refused to) think as he'd dragged himself to the window, peered inside for all of half a second, and tried the door. Found it locked. Busted it open in three hits, crawled in, landed in bed. If he'd dreamed, he didn't remember it, and when he'd awakened the next day the sun had been high overhead. He'd spent the rest of that day scoping out his surrounds and piecing together how he'd arrived there - by leaps and bounds, apparently, across the entire damn country after reinforcements had finally arrived at his...at the other guy's altercation with Blonsky - and that night scouring the cabin. There'd been almost no food except some canned vegetables, but he had found a chest with some musty clothes, mustier blankets, and - perhaps most alarming - a handgun, rifle, and hunting knife buried at the bottom.

Bruce had spent the next two days searching for water, begging or bartering for food in Bella Coola, and actively ignoring that chest.

After another minute or so of leveling out, Bruce looked down at his hands. Still shaking. But his heart rate seemed to be slowing, and he allowed himself a modicum of relief that he hadn't turned in his sleep, though it felt as though he may as well have. His dream - his waking memory of it was fragmented, but vivid. Falling, concrete, roaring and another behemoth answering. Attacks landed and blows sustained. A helicopter. Spike in his chest, blood, pain, rage - fire. Betty's voice. Hands that were and weren't his dragging the life out of someone...Blonsky, Captain Emil Blonsky.

Bruce's vision refocused on his hands. The irony was not lost on him. His hands, going for Blonsky's throat; Brian's, going for Rebecca's.

Dad had taught him well.

"Fuck..." A groan this time, and before he could calm himself he doubled over and gagged. If he had more consumed more than some canned green beans and a glass a milk over the past twenty-four hours, he likely would have retched, but his stomach was mercifully empty, leaving him to dry heave into his knees. Before he could fully recollect himself, he was staggering across the room, then draped across a cold expanse of wood - the chest, he opened the chest, opened it so violently his ears rang with the echo of the lid slamming into the wall, or maybe that was his pulse pounding again -

Had to do it fast. Had to do it quick, don't think, or you'll pass the point of no return and failure just couldn't be an option again, not like this, not this time, not when there was nothing else because no, _NO_ , he _couldn't_ be this monster couldn't become this thing this _thing_ that raged and destroyed and killed, he would have killed Blonsky if Betty hadn't been there and then what would he have become?

The gun was cold and heavier than he'd expected, tasted like blood which tastes like nickel, well isn't that a coincidence, eyes and finger squeezing in tandem but the heat in his head was coming from the base of his skull, not his jaw - the gun crumbled in his hand as it discharged, he felt nothing but a sharp impact in the back of his throat - spit out something small and hot and then threw the ball of metal in his hand, which disappeared through the far wall with the chest quickly following -

_NO. No, God damn it, change BACK!_

Hulk stilled at the force of the small man's presence in his head. The small man, why had he done that?

_Because we deserved it._

Hulk had protected Betty! Hulk had protected himself. And Hulk had done what the small man had wanted, had fought the gray monster. Hulk wasn't bad!

_No, you're right. You came from me, after all. But I'm bad. I'm...I'm sorry._

Hulk slowly sat on the floor. He wanted Betty there, like in the cave.

_Yeah. Me, too._

//

Nine hours later, Bruce once again awoke, this time already on the floor.

Still alone.

He pulled his knees to his chest, folded himself as small as he could, and let the first sob tear itself free from his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> "Breathe Me" Lyrics:
> 
> Help, I have done it again  
> I have been here many times before  
> Hurt myself again today  
> And the worst part is there's no one else to blame
> 
> Be my friend  
> Hold me, wrap me up  
> Unfold me  
> I am small and needy  
> Warm me up  
> And breathe me
> 
> Ouch I have lost myself again  
> Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,  
> Yeah I think that I might break  
> I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
> 
> Be my friend  
> Hold me, wrap me up  
> Unfold me  
> I am small and needy  
> Warm me up  
> And breathe me


End file.
